The Soldier and the Slave
by Teddy1008
Summary: The last thing Steve Rogers had expected was to wake up on an island with weird ass people. His entire life is turned around when he becomes a slave, owned by a man with the name of Bucky Barnes.
1. Chapter 1

Every hair on his body stood on end, prickling as if a thousand ants were crawling over him.

It was cold.

Too cold.

And there was… stuff in his mouth.

Steve stirred, squinting as he opened his eyes. The sun glowered down on him, baking his skin, making his body feel hot, far too hot. It was too hot now.

Chest feeling unnaturally tight, he tried to inhale, and broke off with a wheezing splutter. Sand, he realized. There was sand in his mouth.

With a grimace of disgust, Steve spat it out, gagging and spluttering as he tried to get every grain out. He fisted his hands and felt the rough material between his fingers.

Blood rushed in his ears, and Steve could suddenly feel the pounding in his head all too clearly. With a small groan, he laid exactly where he was for a few moments, trying to regain his senses. All he could smell was salt water, and when he moved his tongue around, he could feel the grains lodged in his mouth. His thoughts were mushed together, making his brain feel as if it was swollen with seawater.

When he looked up, he realized with a pang that he didn't recognize his surroundings at all. The ocean waves lapped at his bare ankles, cool against his now overly hot skin. He must be on… a shore? The squawks of seagulls above him confirmed his guess.

Steve inhaled sharply when the waves washed over him and tickled his back, suddenly feeling a sense of paranoia, worried that the ocean might consume him once more and drag him deep into its threatening waves. It didn't though, and he relaxed when it pulled back.

He stayed immobile for a few seconds, trying to suppress the panic bubbling up inside him at his current predicament. Then, before he even realized it, a huge wave crashed over him, dousing him from head to toe. Steve gasped, spluttering and coughing, ducking his head to try to rub the salt water out of his burning eyes.

Steve slowly maneuvered himself so that he was on his back. He scrunched up his face when the sun glowered down on him, nearly blinding him, and he raised his arm to shield his face. The heat wasn't helping his headache, which was throbbing persistently. His throat felt dry and he had a rather bad aftertaste of sand and salt water lingering in his mouth.

Steve tried to recount the events before he'd been knocked unconscious, but he could barely remember anything. It all felt too foggy, the heat around him and the dryness in his mouth and the pain in his head making it too hard to sort through his thoughts. It was probably a wonder that he remembered his own name. He needed to go back. He needed to—

A low, sudden humming made Steve freeze, blood going cold. He pushed himself up with his hands, his weight on his forearms, trying to get up and—

The breath was knocked out of him when firm, calloused hands flipped him over so that he landed on his stomach. Steve gasped, trying to struggle to his feet, but he was too disoriented and too weak. His arms were yanked in front of him, and his wrists manhandled so that they were crossed, his right one on top of his left. Then, a rough, sturdy rope was wound around them and pulled tight in a knot. It felt too rough on his oversensitive skin, rubbing harshly around his wrists.

Lovely.

Steve yelped when he was yanked to his feet, one hand pulling him up by grasping his arm and the other, his hair. A wave of nausea hit him and he could taste the bile at the back of his throat; he felt seasick. "What—"

"Quiet." The voice was low and threatening. The rope was yanked, causing Steve to stumble. "Let's go. Come on, move it."

Steve dug his toes into the ground. "Stop." He'd meant for it to come out firmly, but with a flash of embarrassment, he realized that it sounded more like a plea.

There was a small sigh from behind him, and before he even realized it, he was manhandled so that his back was pressed to someone's chest—a man's, by the feel of it.

Steve gulped, the ground feeling unsteady beneath his feet. He was going to die. He was going to—

"Cooperate," the man growled into his ear, and forced him to walk forward, further and further away from the ocean.

It wasn't until his feet finally hit soft grass when he realized that he was on an island. Correction: stranded on an island.

Steve shuddered when he noticed, much too late, the people watching him. People, dressed in strange clothes that revealed their limbs and stomachs. On an island. In the middle of nowhere. Still doing their weird humming. With a whisper of, "What the fuck," he stopped in his tracks, not that it seemed to make a difference to the man pushing him from behind.

Both men and women watched him, standing tall with their shoulders back, heads held high, pride etched into every inch of their faces. They stood close to one another, shoulders almost brushing. Some standing near the edge of the line of people were clutching harsh-looking wooden spears, ready to fight if needed. But what really caught Steve's eye was the people kneeling at the feet of others, hands clasped in their laps, holding still and silent. They were watching Steve with steady eyes, but were not taking part of the low humming—singing? Whatever the fuck it was that the others were doing.

Steve could feel himself tensing more and more as he was forced to approach them, unable to help but feel apprehensive. He was pushed forward with firm little shoves until he was standing about seven steps away from the row of people when he was yanked to a stop by a firm hand on his shoulder.

Steve stiffened when he felt the man lean in closer, and he couldn't suppress the shudder when he murmured in his ear, "Knees."

Steve swallowed and tried to turn around to see who exactly he was talking to, but a hand slid into his hair again. Steve's eyes watered when the hand tightened enough to make his scalp burn.

"Get on your knees."

And with a shove, he forced Steve to drop, gritting his teeth when his knees hit the ground painfully with a small thump.

"There you go. Always easier to just cooperate." The man gave a small sniff, as if hiding a smile. The hand stayed in his hair, and if Steve's wrists weren't restrained, tied by a rope that was held by another person, he'd be on his feet in an instance and showing them just how 'cooperative' he was.

When he felt the hand starting to pet his hair, just scratching lightly at his scalp as if he was a dog or something, Steve ducked his head in a small retaliation. His stomach lurched uneasily at the small movement but before he could dwell on that fact any longer, he was punished with a tightening of the hand, making him go stiff again.

Steve furiously worked his jaw, feeling like he was on display like some gold trophy. He looked up when the humming suddenly stopped, catching him off guard. He felt the rope shift, and he watched as the man circled around him to stand in front of him, finally releasing his grip on his hair as he did so. Steve glared, despising the fact that the rope suddenly very much felt like a leash.

The man reached out and tipped his head up with a finger underneath his chin. "Declare your name before the community."

Steve linked his pinky fingers together as he jutted his chin out mutinously. Then, he spat on the ground, just a few inches away from the man's feet. "Eat shit."

There was a small rumble of laughter from the people watching. One of the women called out, "You gonna let him get away with that, Rumlow?"

The man—Rumlow?—smirked down at him. "We've got a feisty one here!" he said with a grin. He leaned in so that his face was a few inches away from Steve's. "If you know what's good for you, you'll do as you're told." His words were clearly a veiled threat. Steve shifted minutely, hating the way the larger man towered over him, and he licked his dry, cracked lips, trying to wet them.

Steve glowered at the ground, then muttered, "Steve Rogers."

Rumlow straightened, and announced, "Welcome, Steve Rogers, to the Bermuda Island." He paused, allowing the others to echo his words, before he turned back to Steve and declared to no one in particular, "As a new member of the community, he will be washed, painted, and taken to the Glades, as per tradition." Steve watched with wide eyes as the rope was passed from Rumlow to another man with a nod and a small grunt of, "Rollins."

Steve snarled lowly, stiffening, when Rumlow maneuvered his arms so that his wrists were pressed against the back of his neck.

Then, he pulled out a knife.

Steve tried to scramble back, heart thumping rapidly in his chest, but he couldn't. Rollins was holding the rope firmly, having wound it around his hand so that he could have a better grip. Steve thrashed when Rumlow neared him. "Stop!" he protested, struggling.

"Stay still, slave." Rumlow crouched down in front of him, as if trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Which was practically impossible, considering he was holding a knife in his hand that could cut Steve open like he was a slab of meat.

When Steve still wriggled around, trying to get away from these fucking psychos, Rumlow rolled his eyes and gruffly told him, "The only way you'll get hurt is if you keep moving. So stay. Still. Before I get someone to hold you down."

Rollins sniffed a laugh from above him and gave the rope a good yank for emphasis.

Steve held still, chest moving up and down in quick little movements with his ragged breathing, and watched as the knife came closer and closer. Fuck, if only his wrists weren't tied, he would—

The knife delicately sliced his shirt open, barely brushing against his skin, feeling like a soft whisper on his chest. Rumlow easily tore the rest of the shirt open, and then moved on to his pants. Steve stayed still, shivering, and within a few seconds, he was naked save for his underwear.

Rumlow paused, eyeing the piece of clothing on Steve's body, which was covering practically nothing considering that they were soaked to his skin.

Rumlow seemed to agree with him, because he pulled out his knife once more. This time, Steve didn't flail around, not daring to move a muscle. Rumlow made quick work of discarding the last thing protecting Steve's modesty, Steve whispering, "Oh, fuck, go to hell," the entire time.

Steve wasn't sure if he wanted to crawl into a little hole and die, or punch every single person watching him.

Before he could decide, a few people stepped out from the line, carrying what looked like large, hollowed-out gourds that were filled to the brim with water. He tensed when he felt water being poured on his shoulder, trickling down his chest.

Steve shivered as more and more water was poured on him. Contrary to what he'd been expecting, it was lukewarm and it felt good on his skin, washing away the grains of sand and cleansing him of sticky sweat caused by the heat. Now, this wouldn't be too bad if only he wasn't so goddamn thirsty. Steve was rather enjoying himself when water was dumped over his head without warning.

Steve spluttered, bound arms involuntarily jerking in an effort to shield his face. He ducked his head down, trying to blink the water out of his eyes. With a scowl, he snapped, "Do that again and I swear to—"

He broke off with a gasp when another bucket of water crashed over him. He hunched down, feeling like a miserable wet dog, and glowered up at the woman who now had a small smirk on her face.

Steve opened his mouth to make it clear just how pissed he was, but jerked back when Rumlow ran his hand through his wet hair. "Don't touch me," Steve snarled.

Rumlow just frowned, looking dissatisfied, and gave him a small tap on the head, as if Steve was some tiresome child. "Wash him again," was all he said. "I can still feel the sand and dirt trapped in his hair. And besides, he reeks of seawater."

Steve's cheeks burned hot at that. "You wouldn't exactly smell like roses if you went through what I did, dickhead. Bet you'd smell like dead fish." He glared at Rumlow.

Rumlow just let out a bark of laughter at that.

It took four more rounds of dumping water onto Steve's head and some filthy cursing from him before Rumlow was satisfied.

Steve's aching arms were let down so that they were in front of him once more, although his wrists remained tied. He tried to pull away in vain when Rumlow approached him with a towel. He fumed the entire time the larger man roughly dried his hair, causing it to stick up randomly.

Rumlow pulled back and gave him an appraising look, then smoothed down his messy hair before moving on to drying off his body.

Steve was thinking it couldn't possibly get any worse than this, naked on his knees under the scrutiny of others, when Rumlow accepted the carved green coconut shell from a young girl. He turned to Steve, dipping his fingers into the shell. When he withdrew his hands, Steve could see that his index and middle fingers were covered in something white.

"You will be taken to the Glades right after you are painted," Steve was told before Rumlow reached out and began to skillfully swipe his two fingers over Steve's cheekbones. "You should be grateful that the waters chose you to become a part of the Bermuda Island, slave."

Steve curled his lip up in a sneer. "You're fucking crazy, I hope you know that."

"Careful, or we'll get you a gag."

Steve just jerked his head so that Rumlow's fingers slipped on his face, where he'd been swirling intricate designs onto him. He felt a flash of satisfaction when Rumlow frowned at the mistake. It was wiped off with a wet cloth before Rumlow restarted his work.

When he pulled back with a small nod of satisfaction and a ruffle of Steve's hair, Steve hung his head, cheeks burning with anger and humiliation.

Steve raised his head in surprise when he felt something being pressed to his lips, and saw Rumlow holding a thinner shell, filled with water. When he tipped it back, Steve hungrily gulped it down, only realizing how much he'd needed it once it began to flood his mouth.

He tensed when he felt hands on his back, marking him with colourful paints, just as Rumlow had done to his face, but he stilled when the larger man placed a hand in his hair, keeping him in place. Positive reinforcement, Steve figured. Behave while they paint you, and you get water.

When he finished the last of the water, Rumlow pulled the shell away. "More," Steve said, his voice coming out raspier than he'd expected. He didn't care, though. Hell, he was beyond the point of a simple voice crack embarrassing him, given his current predicament.

Rumlow grinned. Steve didn't like the look on his face; it looked exactly like a 'what's the magic word?' type of expression. Fortunately, the man simply just passed the shell back to a young girl, who ran to fetch more water.

He felt Rumlow pet his hair, surprisingly gentle, as they waited. The hands on his back were wandering dangerously south, Steve noted. Rumlow seemed to feel him stiffening, because the moment the shell was back in his hands, he shoved it at Steve, wordlessly encouraging him to drink it.

Steve figured that it couldn't hurt to obey. He was still tired, still drained from being tossed around in the ocean, and the last thing he wanted was to be deprived of the one thing he was desperate for at the moment. So, he drank.

He made it a point to ignore the hands on his ass, no matter how badly he wanted to shove them away. If anything, it worked in his favour, because the moment his entire body was finished being painted (groped), his hands were untied.

Steve rubbed at his wrists, looking down to see faint, barely noticeable indents from the rope. He'd always hated how sensitive his skin was.

He was about a second away from pushing himself to his feet when his hands were snagged and manhandled by Rumlow, this time in front of him. The rope was tied around his wrists tightly with a firm yank for good measure, and he was pulled to his feet. When Steve stumbled, almost face-planting, Rumlow grabbed him by the elbow and effortlessly maneuvered him so that he was standing straight.

His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he swore even Rumlow was able to hear him grinding his teeth. Which, good. Steve hoped he did. He wanted Rumlow to hear how hard it was for him to hold back from throwing himself at the larger man and punching that infuriating smirk off of his face.

At Rumlow's call, the crowd parted smoothly. Steve couldn't help but curl in on himself the slightest bit, feeling eyes burning into his back as Rumlow led him through.

Steve ended up having to pick up his pace as Rumlow took long strides forward. Being led by his wrists was better than having them behind his head, no matter how humiliating.

As he passed by the last person standing at the back of the crowd, he craned his neck to try to see where he was going. He had to go on his tip-toes to see over Rumlow's shoulder and he nearly tripped over his own feet in doing so, but he managed to get a glimpse of a path leading deeper into the… forest. Jungle? Steve was pretty sure it was a jungle, based on the dense tropical foliage and the way the soil sunk under his bare feet (which he found a little fucking nasty, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it), damp from recent rains.

"Where are we going?" Steve tried, jogging to try to loosen the tension in the rope.

He rolled his eyes when Rumlow didn't answer, leaving a small silence between the two of them. Steve was convinced he wasn't going to get a response when the man grunted, "The Glades."

"Great answer, thank you. Totally know what that is," Steve muttered under his breath. If Rumlow heard him, he didn't acknowledge it.

In the end, it didn't matter, because Steve found out for himself. Steve didn't even realize that Rumlow had stepped aside, clearly intending to finally let him take in his surroundings. So Steve did exactly that, furrowing his brows in confusion at the sight before him. Steve didn't see what the big deal with it was, but Rumlow was looking at it reverently.

Rumlow dragged him to the tall, jagged boulders that were arranged in a large circle and forced him to scrape his name onto one of the boulders. Steve didn't comment on the other names that had previously been etched on. He didn't really get this whole thing, but Rumlow made Steve go over his name five times before he deemed it acceptable.

Steve felt dead on his feet by the time they were finished. He wasn't sure whether Rumlow took mercy on him, or maybe just that whatever weird claiming ceremony they were in was over, but soon the villagers dispersed, the theatrics over. Rumlow took Steve's rope in hand and led him further through the jungle, keeping an eye on him as the ground beneath them became knotted with roots and rocks. The jungle just seemed to get thicker and thicker, until suddenly, they emerged into a clearing. Rumlow led him around what seemed to be the backs of some huts, alongside a small river. The ground was even damper by the river, making it so Steve's feet squished in the soil.

Steve wasn't sure how much more walking he could handle. Luckily, they seemed to reach their destination then, a long wooden structure, like a barn, maybe. However, when they came inside of it, Steve instead found rows of cots, freshly made and completed with linen sheets. In the corner, a few people were already sleeping.

Steve was so distracted he hardly noticed Rumlow cutting the bindings from his wrists. He looked up at Rumlow with a frown, but Rumlow wasn't paying attention, just herding him to an empty cot. "Sleep. Trust me, you'll regret it if you don't."

Steve wordlessly sat on the cot, rubbing his wrists anxiously. He watched as Rumlow tied his ankle to the foot of the cot. Then, he left without another word, giving Steve's hair a last, almost affectionate ruffle, allowing him something akin to privacy. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless, and Steve took advantage of his time to himself to sink into the cot and block out everything about this new, strange existence. He pulled the sheets up to his chest and tried to get comfortable. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would wake up and things would be back to normal.

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**Thank you for reading! Review and let me know what you thought, and ideas are always welcome! :)**

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_**Sneak peek for the next chapter:**_

_Steve shivered when he felt cold metal on his skin. It felt unnatural and strange, and Steve couldn't help but tense. He was convinced that Bucky could snap his neck in one quick movement if he wanted to._

_Steve was so focused on making sure Bucky didn't strangle him that he hadn't even noticed Rumlow and Rollins disappear back into the jungle. His breathing quickened when he realized he was alone with Bucky now._


	2. Chapter 2

"Rise and shine, cupcake!"

Steve groaned and rolled over. He reached out to grab the clock that stood on his nightstand, trying to see what time it was. He blearily opened his eyes when his hand didn't wrap around the clock like it should've, and with a jolt, he realized exactly where he was.

"Aw, fuck." He yanked the covers up over his head, the sight of Rumlow grinning down at him first thing in the morning making him want to jump right back into the ocean. He scowled when he heard a small laugh above him, and then Rumlow effortlessly pulled the covers off of him. Realizing just how naked and exposed he was, Steve flopped over onto his side, trying to protect himself and his dignity in vain.

Rumlow undid the rope around his ankle, which Steve had surprisingly forgotten about while sleeping. Then, Rumlow grabbed Steve's elbow, wrenching him up into a sitting position.

"Ow, fuck!" Steve complained, rubbing his arm. "You know I'm gonna end up bruising if you keep doing that."

Rumlow ushered him outside, steering Steve out of the barn-like structure with a firm hand on the back of his neck. It was clearly a possessive gesture, but he chose not to dwell on it for too long. It was quiet, still relatively early in the morning. The sun shone brightly into the barn through the high, small windows, glowering down at them and heating up the small area. Steve realized that the others he'd seen in the barn last night were gone, nowhere to be found. That should've probably been concerning, but it wasn't; the worst thing that could happen to him was being tossed into the ocean and getting eaten by sharks. They'd all probably just woken up early; he must've been allowed to sleep in and rest.

Rumlow's grip loosened a little on his neck. It was still there and Steve could feel it, a clear reminder of his place, but it wasn't hard enough to feel overbearing. In fact, it almost seemed as if the larger man was trying to soothe him, like he was a frightened puppy, with the way his fingers scritched at his nape.

Rumlow was… interesting. Steve wasn't really sure how to act around him; he scared him a little, but he was also pretty sure Rumlow wasn't the type of person to box his ears or pummel him to the ground if he gave a bit of sass. Was he? Well, he supposed he'd find out sooner or later.

"Is this the part where I get to go sightseeing around the island?" Steve asked dryly. "Or are we painting someone else today?"

Rumlow just laughed.

Steve stared as they passed a group of young children all trying to climb up the same tree at once. A monkey chittered from the top, like it was taunting them, and before Steve could react, a branch that a little girl was hanging on snapped and she dropped. Steve nearly screamed, but the girl didn't hit the ground; instead, she caught onto another branch with her hands, swinging back on.

"What the fuck," Steve muttered.

"Don't ask me," Rumlow replied, still watching the kids. "Fuckin' monkey kids. Come on."

Soon, they entered a clearing, Steve flinching minutely when he heard the buzz of a bug near his ear. Rumlow sniffed a laugh from next to him. Steve figured it was probably a real effort on Rumlow's part to stifle it at all, so he stayed quiet.

The sun suddenly felt much hotter now that there weren't any trees around them to provide shade. The glare of the sunlight made his eyes hurt, so he averted his eyes to Rumlow, trying to figure out why exactly they were there.

Rumlow noticed his stare. "It's breakfast time."

Breakfast, my ass, Steve thought, but he wisely kept silent, letting Rumlow drag him further into the clearing. He hissed when he stepped on something sharp, swearing under his breath. God, why didn't these people have shoes? Steve scoffed. Their weird ass bodies had probably adapted to the weird ass island. Figures.

As they made their way forward, Steve quickly noticed that they weren't alone. There were a few others lingering around the clearing. Most of them sat on the ground, spooning something akin to porridge into their mouths from coconut shells, while the rest munched on what looked to be papayas and guavas. Large palm fronds arched over them, giving them relief from the scorching heat. Steve watched as Rollins walked over to a redhead sitting on a boulder, nudging her slightly to sit beside her. It was casual enough, but the way they smiled coolly at each other and the way they were positioned, physically sitting above the others made Steve realize that both of them were masters. That meant that the ones on the ground were slaves.

He also realized with a blush that he was the only one completely naked. The other slaves all had some form of attire, although it didn't cover much. Males wore shorts that stopped at their upper thighs, while females wore shorts that stopped at their mid-thighs, as well as what looked like strapless bralettes. Steve suddenly wondered what it meant that he was still naked.

Apparently it didn't mean much besides the fact that Rumlow was just lazy, or he'd forgotten, because the moment Rollins caught sight of them, he grinned and called out, "Where are your pants, little man?" The fucker was wearing pants and a tank top.

Steve scowled, his embarrassment growing when he realized that the others had stopped eating to stare at him.

Rollins was clearly enjoying this too much, because he approached them, ruffled Steve's hair, and joked to Rumlow, "You know, just because you like going around au naturel doesn't mean that other people do."

Rumlow grinned. "Oh, come on. It's a freeing sensation. I'm sure this one would agree, wouldn't he?" He nudged Steve, as if Steve was supposed to play along and respond to that.

Spoiler alert: Steve didn't.

The two larger men still found it equally funny. Rollins was still chuckling as he grabbed a towel and tossed it at Steve. "Tie that around your waist. We don't want dirt going up your ass crack."

Steve wanted to die.

Still, he obeyed mutely, fumbling to secure the towel around his waist. He tried to slap Rumlow's hands away when the man reached out to help him, but Rumlow just ignored him and tied it himself regardless, as if Steve was incapable of doing so.

Rumlow sent him off with a little push towards a man Steve hadn't seen before. He was tall, his skin a dark golden brown, and he stood with his chest puffed out a bit, as if he were proud of something that Steve wasn't aware of.

"You've got two choices," he told Steve, a grin tugging at his lips when he noticed Steve's mutinous expression. "Fruit or soup?" He held up two separate bowls.

Steve observed the soup with a barely concealed distaste. It was a yellow-ish liquid with chunks of whatever the hell that was, and oh god, with a fucking leaf to top it off. The fruit, on the other hand, looked to be at least edible, but Steve wasn't a huge fan of papaya or guava. Still, he'd take that over the soup any day.

"Or, if you really want, there's also the option of this." The man nudged a coconut with his foot and it rolled to a slow stop in front of Steve. "But there's a catch—you only get to eat it if you crack it open with your forehead."

Behind Steve, Rumlow let out a loud bark of laughter, and Steve came to the conclusion that there must be an inside joke about it. God, he didn't even want to know what had happened between the two of them.

In the end, Steve took the bowl that carried fruits, deciding it was the safest option for now. When he hesitated to sit down, unsure of where, Rumlow, who was in the middle of scooping a plentiful amount of fruit into his own bowl, turned slightly and pointed to the ground where all the others were.

Steve sat down, extremely grateful for the towel, and he adjusted it to reassure himself that he wasn't flashing anyone.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the slaves; they ate silently without speaking a word. Steve made eye contact with a few of the others on the ground with him. He couldn't help but wonder how long they'd been here, held against their will. The silence was slowly driving Steve crazy. It meant that he had too much time to think, too much time to dwell on how things could get much worse from here. Maybe they would be used for labour, or sex. Or maybe they would all be killed off one by one as sacrifices. The people here seemed like they were fucked up enough to do something like that. Steve shuddered.

Steve and the others jumped when Rumlow roared, "Sam!" when the man who'd offered Steve food dumped a bowl of water—God, Steve hoped it was water—on his lap. He watched with furrowed brows when Rumlow tackled the other man to the ground, the two wrestling in the dirt.

Steve started when one of the slaves leaned over to him and whispered, "They do this shit everyday," before going back to her meal, as if she hadn't spoken.

Meal time quickly came to an end when Rollins clapped his hands twice and announced that they would head down to the river now. Apprehensively, Steve copied the other slaves' actions, watching as they tossed their bowls into a pile in front of a boulder and began to trek into the jungle. They walked back in the direction they'd come from, but diverted so instead of going to their quarters, they went down a small hill. At the bottom was a river, wide and deep enough to deter Steve from wanting to cross it. It wasn't moving very fast, so he could probably make it across without much trouble, but it definitely seemed to be some sort of border, like a moat around a castle—

"Okay," Rumlow announced, clapping close enough to Steve's ear to make him jump. "Everyone, strip down. You've got ten minutes to bathe. Leave your clothes on the shore, and when you're done you can retrieve a towel from Rollins. Stay close, alright?"

Steve gaped when the others began to strip, even though he knew he probably shouldn't even be surprised, considering the things he'd been forced to go through so far. He inched closer to the others, who were beginning to make their way down closer to the shore, when he heard Rollins chuckle behind him. "Oh, look who decided to show up. You here to take your bi-annual bath?"

Steve turned around and was greeted with the sight of… more nudity. Next to Rollins stood someone Steve had never seen before. He had striking blue eyes and a mess of lightning white waves on his head, and had just dropped his shorts, stepping out of them. "I bathe more than you do," he teased. "Actually, how about I stay out here while you take a dip? I think you need it more."

Rollins smacked him on the thigh right as Rumlow walked over, announcing, "Pietro!" Immediately, Pietro stepped forwards, standing at attention with his hands clasped behind him. He seemed completely comfortable, even though he was butt-ass naked. Rumlow stopped in front of him, his posture military, though one hand strayed to Pietro's hip, landing on it lightly. "Are you our training assistant today?"

Steve couldn't see Pietro's face from where he was standing, but he could hear the softness of his voice, the caution that wasn't present when talking to Rollins. "Yes, Sir. Is there anyone new today?"

Silently, Rumlow pointed over to where Steve was standing, still on the shore. "Over there. He's too hesitant."

"I can help with that," Pietro promised. He gave Rumlow a meaningful look, then carefully stepped away, letting Rumlow's hand fall to the side. He strode over to Steve, confident as ever. "Come on, newbie, get in the water." In one smooth move, he yanked Steve's towel off. Steve squawked in protest, but before he could grab it again Pietro was tugging him away, pulling him towards the river.

The bath wasn't as much a pain in the ass as Steve had expected it to be. The water felt nice on his skin, and he liked that the dried paint was washed away. The river was also deep enough that it gave him a break from feeling exposed. Overall, it felt like a win-win, until they were called back up to the shore by Rumlow.

He ruefully stepped out of the river, following behind the others. Snatching a towel from Rollins, he threw it over his body. It was large enough to cover most of his body as he dried his hair with it. Once he was finished, he cocooned himself in it, unwilling to give back what was somewhat protecting his dignity.

Pietro, on the other hand, stood proud and naked. He'd towelled himself off swiftly before tossing it aside. Steve saw the look of approval on Rumlow's face at that, and he scowled. Pietro was a suck up.

Rumlow stepped closer to Pietro, running a hand through his damp hair. "Look at him; he's a perfect slave," he commented to no one in particular. He made it sound as if it was something to be proud of.

Steve thought that was a bad thing, to be considered a well-trained, well-behaved slave, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Towel."

Steve looked up and found Rollins waiting with an expectant expression on his face. In his hand, he held a pair of shorts, the same ones that Steve had seen the others wearing before their bath. Rollins snapped his fingers as if to say, 'Come on, we don't have all day,' and Steve reluctantly handed over his towel. The shorts were tossed to him in return, along with a pair of shoes. At least it was more cover, he told himself in a pathetic attempt to feel better.

"Let's move," Rumlow called, striding forward. "Pietro, stick with us for now." He ruffled Steve's hair as he passed by, making him scowl.

Steve wondered what sort of torture he would have to go through now. It was still morning, he knew, and couldn't help but wish the night would arrive faster so that he would have the chance to get away from all of this and take a breather. Even though he would have to repeat this the next day. And the day after that. Shit.

The slaves were led like livestock to a rocky area, where they were told to sit and continue their projects from before. All of the other slaves did as they were told, with most pulling strands of twine from baskets to resume braiding. Steve was about to find a spot as far away from the others as possible when there was a hand on his shoulder, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Rollins," Rumlow growled, too close for comfort. "I'm going to take this one back to the barracks to talk about his new duties. Are you good here?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Rollins looked Steve up and down, seeming weary. "Be smart about this."

"Yeah, yeah, when am I not?"

Steve felt the urge to run, or at least escape the hand holding firm on his shoulder. But he didn't. So far, the best results had been achieved by giving in and following his orders. He could at least pretend to keep doing that… right?

Rumlow led him back to the barracks, now empty. He sat on one of the cots, looking at Steve like he was expecting him to eagerly sit on his lap or something. Steve stared back, unflinching under Rumlow's gaze. There were a few more moments of silence until Rumlow told him, "Come here, Stevie."

Steve didn't want to.

But he did.

He had to bite his tongue from responding. He just moved, because it wasn't that fucking hard to take a few steps forward. He stiffened when Rumlow firmly gripped his shoulder and said, "On your knees."

Steve jerked a bit at that, having not expected it. He clenched his jaw when Rumlow raised an eyebrow patronizingly, and slowly let himself go down on his knees, body tense and ready to bolt at any moment necessary.

He was surprised when Rumlow got up after a few moments of petting his hair as if he would pet a dog. Then, he headed to the back of the building. Steve couldn't get a clear view of what he was doing, but he found out soon enough when Rumlow returned holding what looked like straps of leather in his hands.

When Rumlow got closer, Steve realized the pieces of leather had laces. Rumlow sat down in front of him once more, resuming his position, and held out one of the leather straps in front of Steve.

Steve was debating on whether or not Rumlow wanted him to eat it or something, when Rumlow spoke. "Give me your arm."

Steve reluctantly lifted his left arm and Rumlow placed the leather over his forearm. It was fairly long, covering most of his forearm up to his elbow. Rumlow began briskly doing up the laces, making it tight enough so that Steve could definitely feel its presence, but ensuring that it didn't cut off blood circulation.

"Understand that you are never allowed to take these off without explicit permission," Rumlow said, eyes fixed on the laces. "Non-negotiable."

"Why?" Steve asked, the word coming out before he could stop himself.

Steve was surprised when Rumlow didn't do anything else but give him a look, eyes flicking up to Steve's face and his hands pausing before he resumed in his task a second later, finishing up the laces. "It marks your servitude to the people and to the island. It's a symbol of your submission and acceptance as one of the island's offerings. You should be grateful to the island for allowing you to be a part of this."

Fucking hell. Steve scoffed at that, his mood significantly darker, if that was even possible. Seriously? Thank the island for dropping him here? Yeah, not happening.

He wasn't expecting it when Rumlow firmly grabbed his chin after he'd finished up the wristband. His eyes locked onto Rumlow's, and he couldn't help but swallow nervously, mouth dry as a desert.

"I'm going to say this once, and only once," Rumlow said softly. "You never disrespect the island. Ever. It keeps us alive, and in return, we show gratitude. If that needs to be drilled into your head, then it will be." He released his grip on his chin and took Steve's wrist in his hand, fastening the other wristband around his arm. Afterwards, Rumlow ran a hand through his hair and commented, "Good, you learn fast; that'll come in handy."

Steve had to suppress the urge to punch him in the nose. When he made a move to get up from his knees, Rumlow clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I didn't tell you to do that. C'mon, Stevie, be a good boy."

Steve stiffened at that. "I'm not a dog."

"No, you're not," Rumlow agreed, lips curling into a smirk. "You're a slave. Which is why I'm going to be showing you exactly what you need to do as a slave, not a dog."

"Like that's supposed to make me feel better," Steve muttered under his breath.

Rumlow just let out a laugh at that. "Oh, that mouth on you is going to make things so much more fun. Up, on your feet." He snapped his fingers.

When Steve stood, Rumlow pointed to the back of the building and said, "See that basket? Pull the sheets off of the beds and put them in there so that you can take it out for laundry later. Not too hard, is it?" He wasn't really asking, of course. "Get a move on with it or we'll be here all day."

Steve purposely made his way over to the bed farthest from Rumlow, pulling the sheets off of it and tossing it into the basket. When Rumlow said with a grin, "Atta boy, keep up the good work," Steve gritted his teeth and seriously considered hurling the entire basket at him. He amused himself by imagining exactly that.

Much to Steve's annoyance, Rumlow continued with the commentary as the number of sheets in the basket grew. It was a wonder he didn't storm out of the barracks—not that anything good would have resulted from that anyway. When he reluctantly approached the cot that Rumlow was sitting on to remove the blankets, the larger man placed a large hand on his hip. Steve scowled. Clearly, Rumlow didn't know a thing about personal space.

When Steve placed the last sheet in the basket, he picked it up and said in a sarcastically innocent tone, "Do you need me to take this outside, your majesty? Should I crawl while I'm at it?"

Rumlow snorted, clearly amused. He didn't even move from his spot, only saying, "Put that down before I decide you need to be put to better use than just doing simple chores."

Steve didn't want to find out what exactly that meant. He dropped the basket and made his way over to Rumlow. He was made to sweep the floor, which Steve didn't really see the point of because they were on an island and dirt and dust and whatnot were pretty much guaranteed to exist even if he cleaned the floor for twenty hours, but he didn't question it.

In the middle of him carrying out his seemingly pointless task, Rumlow called out, "My shoes need a good polish too. Feel free to get to that after you're done with sweeping."

"Polish your life first, asshole," Steve muttered under his breath.

It continued on and on. Steve, do this. Steve do that. Steve, you missed a spot. Steve, you're a slave, you're supposed to be working harder, you're supposed to be doing better.

After a few more painful moments, Steve let the broom clatter to the ground in the corner, deeming his job finished. He didn't bother to pick it up, just heading back to Rumlow. The man was waiting with a smirk on his lips, legs spread comfortably wide.

"C'mon, Stevie, there's no need to look so sour, mm?" Rumlow was clearly enjoying himself, the bastard.

Steve positively glowered. "I don't think you'd be happy if you were in my position, dickhead," he growled, knowing that Rumlow was within hearing distance.

Sure enough, Rumlow's eyebrows shot up. "Which is exactly why I'm not in your position. I'm the Keeper, you're the slave. Get used to it." He snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground, a clear sign for Steve to get on his knees.

Steve didn't. "Like that's supposed to mean anything." He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms in an effort to hold himself back from strangling Rumlow. Steve was going to kill him. God, he hated him. His anger built up, more and more, and suddenly, before he even realized it, words were tumbling out of his mouth, trying to goad Rumlow into doing something, anything, just so he could prove how much of a fucking dick he really was. "You know what, asshole? You act so high and mighty, but I don't see you doing anything to prove just how strong you actually are, huh? You know what I think? I think you're just all bark and no bite; you're too scared to even try to do anything besides yappin' like that—"

He broke off when Rumlow stood up suddenly and shoved him to his knees, looming over Steve. He hadn't been expecting it, and his knees hit the floor with a painful thump.

"I'd watch your mouth if I were you," Rumlow said warningly, his face dark. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you, slave." When Steve still avoided eye contact, he fisted his hand in Steve's hair and yanked. Steve hissed and clenched his fists, but Rumlow disregarded it. Instead, he glowered down at Steve and narrowed his eyes, growling, "When I give you an order, you obey it."

"Jesus fuck, what's stuck up your ass?" Steve spat angrily. "You're a fucking dick, you know that?"

Rumlow yanked Steve's hair again, and panic began to build in Steve's gut when he processed the fact that he was kneeling between Rumlow's legs. Fuck. Steve gulped, mouth going dry, and all he could think was, shit, what was going to happen now?

"Did you hear what I said?"

Steve hissed through his teeth when Rumlow patted his cheek, just hard enough to sting. "I said, you need to understand the difference between playing around and disrespectful behaviour. If you don't figure that out, I'll have to show you, and you won't like that at all." Rumlow's voice was nearly a hiss now.

"Fuck you," Steve whispered, putting every ounce of hatred he felt towards him into those two words.

Rumlow's nostrils flared, and he jerked Steve to his feet, shoving him against the wall. "You need to be fucking taught a lesson, slave," he growled, making a move to reach out for Steve.

And Steve panicked.

He punched Rumlow between the legs, arms flailing, and with a gasp of pain, he wrenched himself out of Rumlow's grasp. While Rumlow doubled over and cursed, he scrambled to his feet. Steve stumbled, trying to regain his balance. Then, before he knew it, he was running.

He didn't even know where he was running to. All he knew was that he had to get away from Rumlow.

He heard more cursing and running footsteps following behind him, and Steve pushed himself to run faster. A branch cut his cheek, but he didn't care, ignoring the stinging. Then, he broke out of the jungle and into a new clearing, when he was tackled from behind.

The breath was punched out of him as he fell to the ground with a shriek. He fell on his front, and a dead weight fell on top of him, making him yelp. Rumlow didn't hesitate for a second before trying to grab him. Steve thrashed, trying to get away, and he was pretty sure he'd kicked Rumlow in the groin again, judging from the loud exclamation of, "Shit!"

Steve tried to shove Rumlow off of him, breath coming in quick little gasps. It took him a few moments to realize that a second pair of hands had joined in the wrestling match. For a split second, he thought they were trying to get Rumlow off of him until they yanked his arms above him, over his head. Steve let out another shriek of protest and writhed, only stopping when his arms twinged in pain.

Rumlow got back to his feet, chest heaving as he stood over Steve, ready to jump and grab him once more if he managed to break free. "You little shit, I swear to—"

Blood roaring in his ears, Steve bucked and screamed, "Let me go, you sick fuck!" He shouted at the top of his lungs until his throat felt hoarse, trying to talk over Rumlow's booming voice. He only struggled harder when the hands on his wrists tightened, gripping almost painfully in an effort to get him to stop thrashing around. The mulch dug into his knees as he struggled.

"Jesus fuck, stop screaming!"

Steve started when a voice interrupted the shouting match between him and Rumlow. Breaking off with a cough, he twisted to try to see who it was.

Behind them stood a man with messy brown hair that was pulled up into a bun. He was frowning, looking rather unpleased, but Steve barely paid any attention to that. Instead, his gaze flicked over to the man's metal arm and lingered there.

Steve only tore his eyes away from it when Rumlow straightened and gave the other man an easy grin. "Bucky!" he said in a pleasant tone. "Had a nice sleep?"

"I was having a nice sleep until he—" Bucky jutted his chin towards Steve, who scowled, "—made a big commotion." He sauntered over to Rumlow, standing next to him and appraising Steve, who was still held back by—Rollins, he realized. He nudged Rumlow and said with a touch of playfulness, "Getting too old and rusty for this job, Brock? You should keep him under better control."

Rumlow just scoffed fondly and retorted, "Oh, please. I'm not the problem, he's just a little shit."

Steve bared his teeth at Rumlow, but before Rumlow could react there was a sharp sting on Steve's face and he yelped. He tried to pull his hand down to touch the painful spot, but Rollins didn't let him.

Bucky put his hands on his hips, giving Rumlow an unimpressed look. "He's new, of course he's a little shit. Sometimes slaves need to be corrected for their bad behavior—it's not a new concept."

Steve let out a huff of annoyance and complained, "My arms are literally gonna rip off if you don't let go."

He was ignored, and the two carried on with their conversation as if nothing had happened. Rumlow scoffed and told Bucky, "Oh, please, Buck. I'd like to see you try with this one."

With those words, the atmosphere between them quickly changed. Bucky was suddenly eyeing Steve with an expression of intrigue on his face, as if he were trying to solve a hard puzzle.

Steve jolted, eliciting a warning grunt from Rollins, when Rumlow let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, I know that expression," Rumlow said, stepping over to Bucky and narrowly missing stepping on Steve as he did so, making Steve tense—knowing Rumlow, he'd probably done it on purpose, just to get back at Steve for kicking him in the balls more than once. "That's a Bucky's-gears-are-turning expression."

Bucky scoffed, tearing his eyes away from Steve. "You're ridiculous," he told Rumlow.

"Oh, I know," Rumlow said, looking pleased. "And I'm going to say something else ridiculous—I bet you'd have real good fun with this one, Buck."

Steve met Bucky's eyes, and immediately stilled in his shifting, unsure of what was about to happen. Bucky looked thoughtful, and he was eyeing Steve as if he were a delicious meal, lacing his hands—the real one and the metal one—together and fiddling with his fingers.

"C'mon," Rumlow said, sounding almost gleeful. "You know you want him."

Steve looked up indignantly at that. "Uh, I know this can be shocking for all of you, but I'm actually not some object that can be sold, so—mmph!" He broke off when Rumlow clapped a hand over his mouth, preventing him from saying anything else.

"Don't you dare bite," Rumlow told him warningly. Then, he turned his attention back to Bucky. "Come on, Buck. It's time for you to come out of hibernation; you're miserable and we all know it. Lemme just give you this one. Think of it as a gift from your best friend." When Bucky didn't speak or move, Rumlow sighed and signaled for Rollins to drag him to his feet. "Alright, no worries. I'll take him back to the barracks or something; you know where to find me if you change your mind." He crooked a finger and said, "C'mon, Stevie."

Steve was shoved forward by Rollins, and he gave the large man a dirty look over his shoulder before reluctantly trudging after Rumlow, although he made sure not to brush against him.

They were about to leave the clearing when Bucky's voice sounded from behind them. "Alright, fine!" he called. "I'll take him for a bit."

Rumlow turned around with a big grin on his face, as if he'd been anticipating Bucky's words. "That's the spirit, Buck!" he said triumphantly, giving Bucky a clap on the back. "Seriously, man, you'll feel better getting back into it."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky grumbled. "But if he causes any trouble for me, I'm throwing him back in the ocean." He clasped his metal hand on the back of Steve's neck, gripping firmly.

Steve shivered when he felt cold metal on his skin. It felt unnatural and strange, and Steve couldn't help but tense. He was convinced that Bucky could snap his neck in one quick movement if he wanted to.

Steve was so focused on making sure Bucky didn't strangle him that he hadn't even noticed Rumlow and Rollins disappear back into the jungle. His breathing quickened when he realized he was alone with Bucky now.

Bucky just turned around and steered him away in the opposite direction where they'd come from, saying, "Follow me. Steven, was it?"

"Steve," Steve bit back. He didn't know how to feel about this new master, but either way he knew that he couldn't be much worse than Rumlow. Besides, maybe he'd get another chance to escape.


End file.
